Heaven's Last Best Gift: The Pot of Gold
by Leximaven
Summary: spah!verse fanfiction. Lee doesn't call his and Jim's relationship Lim, or even 'little irish stormcloud/blond sex god'. No, Lee's version of their couple name was a little more surprising... Lim fic, obviously. Rated M for language and implied sexiness


This is a drabble fanfic for the wonderful Miss Katie's Spah!Verse. It can be found at livejournal, where Katie is infraredphaeton, or through a link on tumblr, where she goes by the same.

Now... I don't swear unless it's really, highly necessary. I'm just not comfortable with it. But this is from the POV of Lee Dwyre! So yes, swearing shall ensue.

**Disclaimer** - I do not own Glee (not that you care, because what's that got to do with this fic), nor do I own any of the dysfunctional/addictive OC's of the spah!verse.

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><p><strong>The Pot of Gold – Heaven's Last Best Gift<br>**or  
><strong>The Whole Goddamn Motherfucking Rainbow<strong>

Lee Dwyre was an Irishman. He had a foul temper, drank like a motherfucker, and was never to be seen without his lighter.

He did _not_ riverdance. He was not a fucking pansy. He didn't wear green (except when Jim told him), he hated potatoes, and he certainly didn't go around shouting "Diddlydee any-fucking-thing."

An unfortunate fact of being Irish meant that Lee's family was Irish. His mother was Irish; his father was Irish; Ruari was Irish – Ruari's little friend Anthony was fucking Irish.

When Lee re-entered the hospital room after that phone call – the one where he called Jim out on his bullshit, and the overly-isolated blond actually opened up – Anthony glanced up at him, apparently fighting back a smile at his tell-tale blush, despite the circumstances.

Lee scowled; the boy grinned.

"So… How's your pot of gold then?"

"Fucking what?"

"Your pot of gold. You know, Jim – the one you always follow over the rainbow and into Dalton-land."

"You're goddamn insane, you fucking know that? Fucking pot of motherfucking gold… And don't you go mouthing off about any fucking rainbows, you little shitbag, I know where you fucking sleep."

Lee remembered fondly a time when Ruari's friends had flinched at his language, a time when they had been afraid of the notorious black sheep of the Dwyre family. He decided he wanted it the fuck back, as Anthony just smirked and returned to his book.

Motherfucking pot of gold, at the end of a fucking rainbow… What bullshit.

But… Jim after summer was kind of golden; all tanned from the long months sunbaking on European beaches… And his hair, it did kind of glint in the firelight when they would sit by the blaze in winter, helping Pratik with his study under the watchful eye of Harry.

Then there was that incident last St. Patrick's Day. Jim had been bored, and he knew how much the holiday fucking pissed Lee off, so he decided to have some fun. He'd _riverdanced _into the common room, a blushing Pratik playing a traditional Irish jig on the violin behind him. He was all dressed in green, and had leapt about the room, dancing across the table and kicking Lee's books everywhere. He'd then backed Lee into a corner, grinning like an idiot, and presented him with a bouquet of three-leaf clovers when the music ended, breathless.

Ok, so he made a good leprechaun. So fucking what? That didn't mean a fucking thing. Nevermind that he flirted like mad, getting Lee's hopes up by presenting him with meta-fucking-phorical faery treasure.

Just because Lee was Irish, it didn't mean the unattainable boy had to be a fucking pot of gold.

**~ several months of agony, angst and UST later ~**

So he'd finally gotten to the pot of fucking gold.

Lee stared down at the golden skin of Jim's back, brushing a hand up and down the spine, watching the muscles ripple as the blond shifted on the bed, a sleepy sigh coming from the mess of hair on the pillow.

Fucking Anthony was fucking right, along with every other motherfucking Irish folk story – you never believe the leprechaun, you follow the fucking rainbow. And who was more of a rainbow than Kapashima? Well, except for that Kurt kid… He could out-gay Boy George and that Karma fucking Chameleon.

Yes, in the end it was Harry and Pratik that had pushed them together. They'd gotten together a few months ago, and were only just becoming comfortable enough for team/blu rehearsal displays of affection. The kitteny cuteness of it all had driven Jim into a fluff frenzy, or some other fucking nonsense – Lee didn't really pay much attention, he was kind of floored by the fucking confession he'd just heard, not to mention the armful of needy blond that had been flung at him.

Prior to passing out – err, he was emotionally exhausted, yes – Jim had insisted they decide on a couple name; he wouldn't be able to sleep unless their new relationship was strong enough to withstand the true test of coming up with something both adorable and bad ass enough to satisfy them both.

"How about Lim, Sweet Thing?"

Lee scowled. "I'm not being some fucking appendage, Jim. David would fucking flip."

Jim frowned prettily. "You make a valid point. Ok then, what about a code phrase, my little Irish stormcloud?"

The idea did have appeal – everyone already knew Jim as the blond sex god.

But still Lee shook his head. "Nah, Jim. You and I, we're the whole goddamn motherfucking rainbow."


End file.
